


Time Flies

by LadyAJ_13



Series: Tumblr Ficlets and Prompts [1]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: It doesn’t seem to matter how many years go by, he can never quite get over his nausea and just enjoy the sight of his husband’s competency.
Relationships: Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Series: Tumblr Ficlets and Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879900
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Time Flies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> Written for guardianoffun who requested Morse and anyone for the dialogue prompt "No… don’t do that…” / “Try and stop me”.

He averts his gaze. He knows this is Max’s domain, his place of expertise, but watching the process… it doesn’t seem to matter how many years go by, he can never quite get over his nausea and just enjoy the sight of his husband’s competency.

Later, absolutely. But right now even his usual distractions - a fiendish puzzle and a measure of golden scotch on the side - are little help. 

His eyes slide across the table once more, catching on the sickening slice of knife through skin and flesh. His stomach flops, suddenly regretting the whiskey. He breathes shallowly and turns until he can rest his palms on the cool countertops. 

“No Max... don’t do that.” He stares at the wall and winces. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

“Try and stop me.”

God, no. He’s not going anywhere near. He’d abandon him entirely if he could, but he’d be laughed at all evening for his weak stomach and he doesn’t get to spend enough time with Max as it is. Willingly running away on the one evening their shifts line up to leave clear? No. He won’t do it. 

He shakes his head.

“For pity’s sake, Morse.”

There’s a few more seconds of careful focus - in, two three, out, two three four - and then the clatter of metal instruments in the sink, the rush of running water, and vigorous sounds of scrubbing. Another bang - a door slammed shut - and he relaxes. Hands, clean and dry and so familiar, rest on his waist and haul him round.

“Now the chicken’s in the oven, will you look at me again?”

By the look of Max’s smirk, he’s in for an evening of teasing anyway, unless he can distract him. “Maybe,” he says, sneaking his fingertips up to trace along the sensitive skin just above Max’s belt.

“You’ve got two hours to make me forget,” Max says, reading his mind and pulling him down for a kiss that’s all too short. “Chop chop, Morse,” he adds with a sly smile. “Tempus fugit.”


End file.
